


Amnesia

by ashley_ingenious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Rimming, Wincest - Freeform, blowjob, dubcon, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their way back from a particularly brutal hunt, Dean realizes that Sam has caught amnesia somewhere along the way. He doesn't remember who they are to each other, or what they do. So when he starts treating Dean like a really hot guy that's being incredibly sweet, Dean has two choices: He can try to tell his little brother the truth, or......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nervous Flying

It was one of the longest, bloodiest, most brutal hunts they’d ever been on , having taken them all the way to Australia, and they were finally making their way stateside. Their current flight landed at LAX, then they had a connecting flight to Ontario, where the Impala waited in long term parking. Dean was grouchy. “I miss her man. There hasn’t been anyone to take care of her while I was gone. And if there’s a single scratch on the paint, I swear I’m gonna—“ a low growl in his throat was the end of his threat. 

Sam just chuckled and shook his head. “Dude, you’ve got serious attachment issues when it comes to that car.” 

“Shut up, dickhead.” Dean snapped back. “And, thank you for making my point!” Sam chuckled some more, tilting his head back. It almost immediately turned into a long stretch, leaning his neck to both sides to relieve the aching muscles there. His teeth caught on his bottom lip, and Dean could tell he was trying not to moan. Which, in turn, meant Dean was trying not to moan. 

_Bad big brother, bad!_ The angel on his shoulder whispered, and Dean tried to shake his head clear of his improper thoughts. _Isn’t even my fuckin’ fault,_ he grumbled internally, _maybe if he’d cut his fucking hair, stop being so_ beautiful _all the fuckin’ time, it’d be easier for me._

Still, whenever there was anything wrong with Sammy, Dean just wanted to fix it, so he offered an olive branch. “Next time we’ll fly first class. What’s the point in phony cards if you can’t live a little?” He smirked, “Sasquatches weren’t meant for coach, makes ‘em grumpy.” 

“Shut up, dickhead.” Sam muttered, leaning his head against the window. “Hey!” Dean exclaimed, “I said that like, a minute ago, and this really tall guy said something really smart about making points.” 

The plane tilted to the left for it’s descent, and the embarrassingly familiar tickle of panic started scratching at Dean’s throat. They’d been on the plane for so long; he’d almost forgotten they were flying. Almost. Now, it was back full force, so he gripped his hands on the armrests and focused on trying not to look like a pussy. 

“Hey, hey, easy.” Sam’s soothing voice murmured to him, “not much longer now.” Dean nodded, eyes dead ahead, trying not to think about anything. They hit a bump of turbulence and Dean gripped the armrest tighter, letting his eyes flutter closed as he muttered an oath. As the turbulence continued, Sam stepped his game up, resting his hand gently on Dean’s arm. “Almost big bro. Come on, we’ve been fighting big, bad, monsters since we were kids. I’m not gonna see you beat by some speed bumps.” Dean just nodded, numbly, the electricity crackling through him from his brother’s touch distracting him just as effectively as the soothing words, though it came with it’s own set of problems. 

The descent continued steadily, with Sam murmuring calming words and keeping his hand on Dean for the entirety, squeezing a little when it got especially bad. Dean kept his eyes closed and tried to lose himself in a fantasy he knew he shouldn’t be having. Turning the sound of Sam's calming murmurs into whispers of sweet nothings in his ear, the squeezing of his arm into an unspoken plea for more as he thrust—

A bump jolted him out of his forbidden fantasy. He opened his eyes and glanced over at Sam, who’d removed his hand and was beaming at him. “You did it,” his little brother smiled, “we’re on the ground.” Dean sighed and then readjusted his position in the seat to something a little less scared for his life. Sam just chuckled at him, and started to adjust his seat back and tray table like the nice lady over the intercom instructed. 

Dean had to smile at himself a little, no matter how much shit they gave each other, in a pinch, Sammy always came through, and Dean did the same. _That’s what family does, you perv._ The angel whispered again, and Dean knew that was true, that he was stupid for ever thinking it was something more. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam stretched much more luxuriously once they’d gotten off the plane at LAX, then set off towards the restroom, “Shit, I gotta take a leak.” He muttered. Dean called back to him, “Dude! Uh uh, boarding starts for our connecting flight in ten minutes. Hold it. You can pee on the plane.” 

For a moment Sam looked at him with such genuine confusion that Dean was forced to motion to the extra boarding pass in Sam’s hand. Looking down at it, Sam looked even more confused. “Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I forgot.” He tried to chuckle, but still looked a little bit at a loss as trotted to catch up with Dean. The older man just shook his head. Forgot. Figures.

They barely take seats in their new waiting area before their boarding group is being called up. Dean is weary, having just gone through all the terrifying turbulence of a landing, he almost didn’t think he had it in him for another take off so soon. “Dude, this is gonna suck.” He mumbled. “What?” Sam responded, concerned. “More flying. Just, man, I’m sick of flying. Can’t wait till we get back to the Impala.” He knew he was whining, and was completely expecting to catch hell for it, but instead Sam nodded, sagely. “You a nervous flyer?” It was thrown out so casually, Dean assumed it was a joke. “Very funny, bro, very fucking funny.” He handed his boarding pass to the attendant and began the trek down the rickety walkway towards the gate. The was always wear his nerves kicked in. “To make matters worse,” he continued griping, “it’s a fucking puddle jumper! These things never fly smooth!” Again, that same sage nod, like he was vaguely disinterested, or on autopilot or something. “Only a forty five minute flight, we should be fine.” But his voice was wrong. Not the normal soothing reassurance his little brother doled out to smooth Dean’s ruffled feathers. Instead it was a kind of patronizing condescension that he wasn’t used to out of Sammy. 

He turned to look at him fully for the first time since they’d gotten in line to board, and Sammy gave him a distant, sort of polite smile that you give complete and utter strangers in the airport. Suppressing the need to reach out and touch his forehead, just for the sake of touching him, he asked, “are you feeling alright?” Sammy shrugged. “Fine. Just not a nervous flyer, I guess.” Dean was starting to get a little concerned, but figured it’d been a hell of a time the last couple days, maybe Sammy was just tired, anxious to get back on the open road, like he was. 

As they filed onto the plane, Sam ducked down in an open aisle seat, getting as much stretch for his legs as he good. Dean arched an eyebrow at him, “you gonna let me in?” Sam glanced at him with a look of mild shock, and maybe a little offense, before sliding out so Dean could sit in the open middle. An older man sat at the window, sending his last few text messages before the plane departed. 

They were quiet during the safety demonstration, as the plane was taxied backwards towards it’s runway. Dean always paid particular attention to the safety demonstration. Was his seat a flotation device? Apparently not on this piece of crap. Were there oxygen masks? Yes. How many exits? Four. Where were they? Did they have the little lights to guide him? Shit, this was nerve wrecking. 

Sammy’s head was back, eyes closed, looking perfectly relaxed throughout the entire presentation, and the older man by the window texted. When it was over, though, the older man had put his phone away, turned to Dean and asked if he was flying for business or pleasure. “Business,” he responded gruffly. Takeoffs were the scariest moments in his life, followed closely by landings. He was not in the mood for small talk right now. He just wanted Sammy to do that patient, soothing voice thing with his hand on Dean’s arm. 

But instead of that, Sam turned, eyes alight, and said, “Oh, yeah? What kind of business are you in?”

Dean was so shocked he didn’t even notice the plane taking off, realizing finally that something was very, very wrong.


	2. You Little Minx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets flirty.....

“Seriously?!” It burst of out Dean with the force of the frustration he’d been feeling the last few days. They so didn’t have time for this right now. He was too tired. Sam just frowned, apologetic. “I’m sorry. Did you tell me already? I’m just so tired, I can’t really seem to recall…” He was using his best concentration face, a face Dean had watched him perfect since he was three, and knew he couldn’t fake. Shit. Sammy didn’t remember. What the fuck was this? 

“I’m in international imports.” He drawled, with a slow smile. If Sammy was bullshitting him, this game of flirting-chicken was one Dean would play equally well. Sam gave him a rueful grin. “Sounds like a first class seat kinda job.” He tried and failed to stretch his uncomfortable legs. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who looks like they need a first class ticket. What do you do?” He was so interested in who this new Sam thought he was. “I’m a college student.” He responded easily. Typical. “Oh, yeah? What school?” That adorable half frown again. “Stanford….” _I think_ , Dean could hear it in his voice. Okay, so he remembered Stanford, even if it was fuzzily. An irrational burst of jealousy flooded through him. _He remembers Stanford and forgot **ME**?_ He shook it off relatively quickly, though. If there was one thing he’d learned in his fucked up life, it’s that weird shit very rarely went the way you’d expect weird shit to go. “Cool. Stanford’s one of those smart schools. Ivy League  & shit. Look at you. What’s your major?” 

“Undeclared. I’m torn between mythology, or the study of mythological creatures, or pre law.” Dean chuckled again, leaning his head back against the headrest, letting his eyes drift closed. The kid had no idea how torn he was. “You get a hard on for things that go bump in the night?” Silence. Dean waited a beat, then two, before cracking one eye open to peer at Sam, who was gazing at him, speculatively, deep, soulful eyes doing funny things to his system. “What?” He said, warily, wondering if the jig was up and surprising himself when he realized he didn’t want it to be. 

“You’re just….you’re really crass, you know that?” Dean snorted. “What, I’m supposed to be mindful of your delicate sensibilities?” That pulled a bark of laughter from Sam. “Dude, shut up! God, you’re such a dick.” He shifted restlessly back down into his seat, and then he sighed and muttered, “I’m sorry.” Dean turned to inspect him. “For what, kid?” Sam sighs. “It’s gonna sound stupid. I don’t even remember how long I’ve been flying, that’s how tired I am. My brain is cloudy. It’s messed up. I know you. I know your name I just can’t think of it…” he trailed off, and Dean started to feel the first licks of panic in his throat again, this time having nothing to do with the plane. “Devin? Danny? Shit, your name. I know your name. Darren? No, smooth. Smoother than that. But I can’t think of it. I should be able to, shouldn’t I?” It was his first admission that something was wrong. Trust Sammy to know, even impaired, that something was wrong. 

And so, of course, Dean tried to fix it. 

Flashing a thousand watt smile, he held his hand out, “Dean. Winchester.” Sam smiled back, opened his mouth to speak and just then, the fasten seatbelt sign dinged off and he let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank fucking God…” he breathed out, then made a hasty excuse and rushed off to the restroom, leaving Dean to stare after him. 

When he returned, he flopped down into the seat, earning himself a glare from the older woman in the aisle behind him, her tray table bouncing with his movement and almost upending her ginger ale. “Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly when he glanced back, then turned his own thousand watt smile and held his hand out to Dean. “Jared. Padalecki.” They shook, and Dean was at a complete loss for words because Sammy didn’t remember his name. He’d gone into the bathroom, and grabbed the fake ID in his wallet. Jared Padalecki. Twenty two. Texas native. They were so fucked. 

And of course, just then, the plane tilted, wobbly, into it’s descent, and Dean’s heart almost came out of his chest. He clutched at the armrests again, happy that the older gentleman wasn’t awake to see his misfortune. “Right. Nervous flyer. I forgot.” Dean just nodded. Shit. He needed Sammy right now. Whoever Jared was deciding to be, he doubted he could do a better job than Sammy. “I can try to take your mind off it, if you want? You’ve been so nice to me…” Dean just nodded again. Something, anything, shit. He definitely wasn’t expecting Sammy’s hand on his thigh, mouth leaning in close to his neck, before rising to his ear. 

“You’ve got such great hands. I keep imagining them on me. Squeezing. I’ve had that thought for a long time, I think. And that smile. So predatory. I imagine you know what you want. And I bet you get it, too, which is just so **_hot_**.” Dean rolled his eyes and tried not to swear, but he could feel himself hardening in his jeans. Sammy backed away a little. “Sorry, I’m probably not good at this, I don’t think I’ve ever done it before.” “Don’t stop.” Dean ground out. Sammy smiled, he couldn’t see it, he could hear it in his voice. 

“Oh, so you like that? Good. Because I do too. I wonder what it would feel like if I just…” Dean took in a sharp intake of air as Sam’s mouth connected with his neck, tongue running circles over his flushed skin. His hips thrust slightly of their own accord. “Shit, sssss-“ What was originally going to be Sam’s name turned into just a hiss between his teeth, because this wasn’t Sam. This was Jared. This was wrong. He should stop this. The angel on his shoulder was going to have a conniption, and then. “Where are you going after this?” Sammy’s voice back in his ear, hot and a little shaky. 

“Was just gonna snag a bed, motel somewhere. Sleep. Been flying for,” teeth nipped at his ear, “shit. Days. Need to sleep.” Sammy chuckled. “Me too. Take me with you? Then after we could sleep maybe we could…..sleep less?” Dean nodded dumbly. Sam smiled and rose. It was only then Dean realized that the plane had landed, and that passengers had been slowly filing off, the businessman next to them still asleep against the window. 

 

Stepping off the puddle jumper, Dean’s stomach was in knots that had nothing to do with the flying. His brother had just picked him up. On an airplane. He thought they were going to go find a cheap motel, take a nap, then fuck. 

They weren’t, of course, Dean wouldn’t take advantage of Sammy that way, no matter how bad he wanted it, but he had to keep him close, and this had seemed the most convenient way to do it. He needed to call Bobby. He needed to do research. He needed to figure this shit out. But he’d been flying for what seemed like days now, and this thing with Sammy, the flirting, the back and forth, the banter, it just seemed so right that he started thinking. Maybe, maybe just one day wouldn’t be so bad. Once he’d had some sleep, he convinced himself, his head would be clearer, he’d be more prepared to deal with this.  


At least that’s what he told himself as he and Sam made their way to the car.

\----------------------

The motel they found was shitty because, whether Sammy knew it or not, they were Winchesters and that’s just how they rolled.

“This place is a dump,” Sam said, poking at the bedspread as though he were expecting it to come alive. “It’ll serve our purposes, though.” He grinned devilishly at Dean, who was just kind of looking at him. As suave as he was, with the ladies and the gentlemen, he had absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. None at all. He wasn’t spurred into action until Sam started to undress. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” he closed the space between them in an instant, stilling Sam’s hands, then running his own hands up Sam’s arms to rest at his shoulders, “Sweetheart. As much as I’d love to give you exactly what you want,” _exactlywhati’vebeenwantingformonthsnowandfuckyesohyesGod_. ”I’m 100% certain I’ve been flying since what could be considered yesterday in every time zone. I need a shower, honey, and a nap.” Sam looked dejected, but then he yawned, as though he’d been reminded of his own fatigue. “See? You too. And I can’t have that.” Giving in to his own forbidden lust, he cleaned in closer to his little brother’s ear, pressing their bodies together so that his rapidly filling cock pressed up against Sam’s thigh. “Because when I fuck you, and trust me, sweetheart, I’m going to fuck you, I want us both very awake. I’m going to fuck that perky little ass so good that all you’ll ever think about is me.” 

He took a step back, but not before he caught Sammy’s shudder. It sent a sick twist of pleasure through him. God, he’d wanted to say that forever. Sam’s breath was coming a little unevenly, his erection straining at his fly, and his eyes slightly more dilated than they should be. All Dean wanted to do was nip at that perfect bottom lip. But that was too much, too far for today. They’d shower, they’d sleep, they’d get to the bottom of this tomorrow. 

“Go ahead and hop in the shower. I know you need it. Coach still ain’t meant for sasquatches.” Sam gasped, and Dean looked over, seeing if there was any recognition in his little brother’s eyes. There wasn’t, and he tried to hide his disappointment as he went back to taking clothes out of a bag without exposing Sammy to the holy water and shit like that. He figured he’d take everything suspicious out of Sam’s bag while he was in the shower.

The younger man stalked towards the bathroom, sulking. “Shut up, dickhead.” he muttered. And Dean stopped, eyes glued to the tacky civil war reenactment painting hung behind the bed, guilt settling low in his stomach.

\----------------------------------------

When Dean came out of the bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, he found Sammy tapping away at the keyboard of his laptop. He went to dress quickly, wondering what the kid was researching anyway. But while his back was turned he heard the laptop click closed, and felt those amber eyes boring holes into him as he dressed.

Once he did, he flopped down on the bed and, turning, reached out an arm for Sammy, who was still watching from the motel’s crappy version of a dining room table. 

Sammy eyed him a little warily, and Dean wondered again, what the hell he’d been looking up while Dean’d been in the shower, but he crossed over, got in the bed, turned on his side so that his ass was pressed right into Dean’s half hard erection. He rolled his eyes and bit back a groan. This kid was going to be the death of him. Didn’t even know he was Sammy, and still went after everything with the same passive aggressive ferocity. 

Just sleep, he thought to himself, just make it till tomorrow, Bobby will know what to do. But Sam was wiggling against his dick, and Dean was losing it. Sam would writhe and roll his ass against Dean’s cock, and then stop. Then stretch with his whole body, pressing deliciously back against Dean, and then stop. Then moan like a wanton slut about how delicious his shower felt, and how all the kinks in his back were now worked out, and how wonderful it all was. Dean almost snorted at that. Piece of crap motel, lukewarm water, and shitty water pressure did not add up to a delicious shower.

But he couldn’t deny that this was a delicious piece of ass baiting him at every turn, and he knew he need to do something about it quick, or he was going to give his little brother exactly what he was asking for. The choices came down to fucking him, tossing him out of the bed, or….the idea struck him suddenly and the grin he flashed would’ve scared the shit out of Sam Winchester, had he been present and accounted for at the moment.

Wrapping his arm around Sam’s waist, he pulled him close and whispered in his ear. “Listen here, you little minx. Daddy needs his sleep now. Heaven help me if I didn’t I’d have you waking up everybody in this fuckin’ county, screaming for me.” Sammy moaned softly, “But I can’t give it to you like you need it right now, I’m beat. So cut out all that teasin’, and sleep.” He nipped lightly at Sammy’s neck( he couldn’t help himself), and ground his cock against Sammy’s ass (he could help himself, but what was the point?), then watched Sammy nod dumbly, and switched out the light.

He fell asleep with a handful of Sam Winchester, feeling happier than he had any right to, given the severity of the current situation.


	3. Just Keep Him Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hint of porn, the boys have a fight, they boys have feeeels, and then, oh yeah, the plot makes an appearance...

Under the circumstances, the dream didn’t surprise Dean at all. Sweats and boxers pulled down, he watched as Sammy eyed his cock hungrily, it was hard and leaking already, which also wasn’t a surprise, given as this had been a pretty consistent fantasy of his for the last eight or so months. And his Sammy, fuck, his Sammy growled as he reached out to touch it, smearing precum down the head, twisting slightly at the ridge, making Dean gasp and arch just a little. Sam’s smile was nothing but satisfied as he stroked his way down the shaft, fondling Dean’s balls lightly with his thumb. 

Shifting forward, he took the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth and worked his way down, slowly, tongue fluttering in circular movements. Dean couldn’t help to run his fingers through the younger man’s hair because, hell, if Sammy gave head like this? Guilt be damned, they were doing it all the time. 

Slow and circular gained in intensity quickly, becoming fast and deep without any provocation. Sammy was moaning like he did after he’d had something delicious and Dean was losing it.

“Shit, Sammy, shit, I’m gonna--, don’t stop. Shit don’t….” Without realizing it, his hips were thrusting up into Sammy’s mouth, wanting to take every inch of the wet, hot heat being offered to him. Until suddenly the heat was gone. 

“Who’s Sammy?” Dean’s eyes flicked open to see his younger brother kneeling on his knees at the foot of the bed, hair tousled from sleep, lips still shiny with spit, eyes furious. Dean blinked once. Blinked again, and the crushing weight of their reality hit him full force. A) Not dreaming. B) Sammy sucked a **hell** of a cock. C) Sammy wasn’t Sammy right now, and was pissed at being called Sammy, which made a fucked up kind of sense. He swung an arm over his face and tried to figure what in the world he could even say. 

“Sweetheart, listen…” he tried, but Sammy cut him off, rising up from the bed and shoving himself into his shoes. “No. Fuck you. Fuck you, Dean Winchester!” Sam spit the name at him with such contempt, it was like a blade in the chest to hear him say his name that way. “I am not some cheap piece of ass you drag to a motel room to fuck away thoughts of your last boyfriend. I am not—I can’t even fucking believe this. I’m so fucking stupid! I might be fucked up in the head a little bit. I’m not remembering….I’m not remembering shit I should, okay? But I’m not this fucked up. I’m not fucked up enough to let you—Do you know the shit they say about you, Dean Winchester?” There was that contempt again. And shit, probably shouldn’t have given the kid the real name. Just holding out hope it’d jog his memory. 

He was up now, pushing himself back into his clothes, seeing that Sammy had worked himself up into quite a little fit. Pacing, muttering, his cheeks flushed that gorgeous fucking pink they went when he was angry. And, while the anger was justified, he still needed to squash it, because Sammy was almost fully dressed, could walk out of the door easily. And if he went with anyone else as easily as he’d gone with Dean…

A growl of possession started low in his throat, “What do they say about me, sweetheart?” He stalked over to where Sam stood, staring him down even while looking up at him. “They say you’re a fucking _murderer._ ” And it hit him like a ton of bricks, for Sam to leer it at him like that. Like he was worth less than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. But he’d take it. As long as Sammy was fighting with him, that meant he was still _with_ him, and that was the main goal right now. “Anything else?” He forced it to be casual. “They say you dig up graves, desecrate people’s bones. You’re probably psychotic.” Dean snorted. Probably. 

“So then why are you here?” Sam faltered at this. “You know who I am. Who know what I’ve done. You had the information at the ready, so why did you stay here? Throw yourself at me like a fucking cat in heat? WHY ARE YOU HERE?” Dean demanded. And, like he knew he would, Sam crumbled.

Collapsing on the bed, he did everything he could to fight back tears. “Because I’m scared! I can’t remember! I don’t know, and I can’t remember! I’ve got this ID, that says I’m Jared, and this address in Texas and I’m in fucking Ontario, and I’ve got 80 dollars cash and a credit card under the name Sergio Luca and fuck do I look more like a Jared than a Sergio. And everything’s fucking fuzzy and nothing feels right but you! You and this shitty motel and that crappy laptop. That’s all that feels familiar. So when you were nice to me, I ignored all the shit online. Because maybe you’re crazy, but all I can remember is you. So maybe I’m crazy, too?” And just like that, the tears spilled over, and Dean couldn’t take it. 

He sat on the bed and pulled Sammy into his arms, letting the hot tears spill down his neck. “What’s happening to me?” He could barely discern the muffled sob, “I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out though, okay? We always figure it out.” He carded his fingers through his younger brother’s hair, and tried not to relish having him so close. Against his will, his cock began to harden again at the thought of closeness, and their more recent events. “Who’s Sammy?” The younger man muttered. 

“You’re Sammy. Sam. You go by Sam. You hate that I call you Sammy but, you let me. I’ve got my charms.” Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Before you….forgot, we were together a lot. We took care of each other. We’ve stayed in a lot of shitty motels in our time, which is probably why this whole thing is familiar, and that laptop you’ve had since your first year at Stanford.” Couldn’t tell him his last name yet. Couldn’t burst the bubble. Not yet. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sam sniffled. “I didn’t know what was going on!” He replied, immediately, “Still fucking don’t, if we’re being honest. You introduced yourself with this megawatt smile as this Jared dude and I didn’t know if telling you the truth would break you or freak you out or what.” And that was the honest truth. 

Curiosity was sneaking up on him though. “What’s the first thing you remember?” Sam shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “You. Telling me I couldn’t pee because we had a connecting flight. I didn’t remember who you were, but obviously we were traveling together, so I started talking to you, trying to feel you out. And then you started asking me questions, so I assumed we didn’t know each other very well.” Dean shook his head. “Just trying to see how deep this thing went.” And Sam nodded. “Right, like apparently I really did go to Stanford.” Dean nodded. “Sure did.” “Did I graduate?” Another nod. “Which major did I pick?” Dean chucked a little, “Pre law.” “Pass the LSats?” “174.” Sam blew out an impressed stream of air. “Holy fuck. How’d I pull that off?” Dean shrugged. “Beats me. You’ve been pretty much retarded since you were 8.” Sam chuckled. “How old am I now?” “23.” “Why aren’t I in law school? I’m obviously kick ass.” 

There was a long beat of silence as Dean tried to figure out how, or if, he could explain without ruining everything. He sighed, “Because you chose me. No more questions, for a bit, please?” Sam nodded. “Look, we’re gonna get to the bottom of this, I swear. We’ve got a friend that we call when weird shit happens, ‘s name’s Bobby. I’m gonna call him. How about you,” and he tossed Sam the keys to the Impala. “Go get us some food or something?” Sam nodded again. Rising, he stalked towards the door as Dean rummaged through his jacket pockets for his phone, absently, he called out over his shoulder, “and don’t fuck with the radio! You always leave it on that chick shit, Sammy, you gotta learn some respect for my fucking car.” But all he heard was the slamming of the door as the phone started ringing. 

Bobby picked up on the second ring. “Tell me you weren’t on flight 15497 into LAX yesterday afternoon?” And thanks for the time stamp, because Dean’d actually had no idea what time it was. “Sounds about right. What do you know about it?” He heard Bobby’s rough sigh over the phone. “Everybody who got off that plane seems to have been struck with some strange kind of amnesia. Nobody can remember shit. How’re you & your brother?” Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out. “I’m fine. I remember everything. Fucking possessed dingos in Australia. Real ‘a dingo ate my baby’ type shit. Then the ride back, and then Sam…” “Sam what?” Bobby demanded. “Sam forgot. Forgot everything. Who we are. What we do. I mean, he remembers me. Remembers that he knows me. He remembers Stanford, but not much else.” “Well, shit.” Bobby breathed. “Pretty much.”

There was silence on the line for a while before Bobby spoke again. “Don’t worry too much. Just keep him close, keep an eye on ‘em. I’ll do the research from here, keep you posted, let you know if anything changes.” Dean nodded, then grunted assent when he remembered that Bobby couldn’t see him, and they disconnected the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) I'm the queen of providing information about the writing process that you don't need. B) It was a toss up between naming this chapter "Because You Chose Me" or "Just Keep Him Close", I'm honestly not sure if I made the right decision. C) I'm thinking I can get this done in 8 chapters. 10 tops. Unless the boys have other plans.


	4. Some Things Never Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Riding the high of a completed work. And Wincest is just so easy to come back to. Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> Oh! It's important to know that the boys are in Ontario, California. Not like, Canada Ontario.

“Barbie Girl” was blaring obnoxiously from outside, covering up the purring roar of the Impala’s engine. Dean rolled his eyes. He may not remember, but there was no denying that this little shit was his brother. 

Almost on cue, Sam opened the door, carrying two bags of food. “Extra onions, right?” He asked. Dean nodded, wondering how Sam remembered that. “I’m not talking to you right now.” Sammy grinned, “Aww, too much ‘chick shit’ for you?” He chuckled, placing the food on the rickety table and plopping down on the bed with a contented sigh. 

“You’re a little brat, you know that?” Dean intended to snarl, but it came out much closer to admiration. Sam grinned, dimples lighting up his face, “Yeah. I know.” And then he just continued to lie there, eyes closed, face tilted up towards the ceiling. 

Dean had gotten used to steeling himself, never dwelling on how downright fucking beautiful his little brother was. It was wrong. But here, now, they weren’t brothers. They were just Sam and Dean. The attraction was there, pumping through the room like a tangible thing. Dean was certain he could reach out and touch it. Almost equally as certain that he’d choke on it if he didn’t do something about it. And eventually, he was going to have to do something, because this new and improved Sam was, well, horny. If he was feeling the attraction anywhere near as strongly as Dean was, he’d be wanting to do something about it shortly. How would the older Winchester explain that? 

_Oh, yeah, sweetheart, there’s no denying you’re hot, but I actually have no interest in fucking you. Wait, wait! Don’t leave! I need to keep you here for reasons I can’t disclose._

Dean almost snorted at the absurdity of it. And then there was the lovely alternative, the truth:

_Sweetheart, as much as I’d_ **love** _to tear that little ass of yours apart, eventually you’re gonna remember you’re my baby brother, and the whole thing might not sit so well with you then. So I’m just gonna hold off. Don’t take it personal._

Jesus, he was fucked. 

Knowing that he was rationalizing desperately, he told himself there was only one real alternative. He had to give the kid what he wanted. The angel and the devil on his shoulder were in violent agreement, _What YOU want_, and a shiver ran down his spine, to think that those polar opposite sides of himself had laid down arms to take up this cause. 

_Jesus_ , he was **fucked**!

But if we was going to hell anyway…

So he reveled in letting his eyes trace over the delicate curves of Sam’s face. The way chestnut hair fell over tawny skin, they way his eyelashes shaped eyes that were perfectly almond shaped. The arch of his nose, the dip and curve of his mouth, the wet pink of his tongue as it darted out to soothe his bottom lip. Dean felt his jeans tightening uncomfortably, and a strange flutter in his stomach that screamed _performance anxiety_. 

This should be easy, right? It was what he wanted, right? Should be as simple, and as pleasurable, as pie to lean over this gorgeous expanse of man, to ravish his mouth, and fist his hair and drive him mad with need. And it would’ve been, if it were just anybody. But underneath it all, no matter the circumstances, Dean couldn’t forget that this was Sammy. And above all else, he had to look out for Sammy. 

Grumbling, he rose from his seat at the foot of the bed. “We gonna eat or what, Sleeping Beauty?” He snarled, exasperated. Sam just hummed happily, “You go ahead. I’ll get around to it eventually.” 

Dean plopped down at the rickety table with enough force that the chair under him really should’ve given. But it didn’t, so he just unwrapped his burger and dug in, gracelessly. “I’m sorry.” Sam murmured from the bed, eyes still closed. Dean turned his head to look at him. “For what?” He garbled out, mouth still half full of burger. Sam shook his head, chuckling a little. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Dean. You’re so disgusting.” And it was so fucking _Sam_ , that Dean just stared for a moment, then finished chewing and swallowing the hunk of burger in his mouth. “For what?” He repeated once he’d finished. 

“You seem upset. And I figure it’s gotta be, I don’t know, the stress of the situation?” Damn straight. “So, I’m sorry. I keep thinking about how hard it is for me, not knowing. But I guess, it can’t be much easier for you, to have me all the sudden just not know. So I’m sorry.” Dean shook his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Not your fault, Sam. Apparently I’m the weird one. Nobody else that got off that plane remembers a damn thing either. Just me.” Sam’s brow furrowed, and he propped himself up on his elbow to get a better look at Dean, who just shrugged, “I talked to Bobby while you were out.” The younger Winchester nodded, seeming to accept this as a suitable answer, and fell back down on the bed. “I just don’t like that you’re stressed out. It’s messing with me. Dunno why, though.” 

“It’s ‘cause we take care of each other,” Dean mumbled, and then the room was enveloped in silence again. 

“Hey, I was thinking,” Dean piped up again. He hadn’t been, the idea was forming about as fast as he could get the words out of his mouth. “Do you remember the ocean?” Sam sat up fully this time, frowning, “Kinda?” Dean nodded, thoughtfully. “Grand Canyon?” Sam shook his head, not at all. “That big ass tree that we could drive through?” Eyes widened, “We can drive through a _tree_?” Dean nodded again. “Kay. That settles it. Tomorrow we’re going on a road trip. Gotta decide between the Grand Canyon and the tree first, though. They’re in opposite directions.” Sam nodded, and rushed to the laptop, furiously researching to get more information on the subject. 

Dean just chuckled, remembering a nine year old Sam, pouring over old books in an library, searching for some hint in the lore to help them bring down this unknown (at the time) thing. It was their first time dealing with a changeling. They’d called their dad as soon as they’d found the information he needed. John had come back, limping, with at least two cracked ribs about a week later, and swept Sam up into a painful (for both of them) hug. The information had saved his life. 

Shaking himself out of the memory, Dean concentrated on eating his food. He couldn’t help but smile though, as he glanced up at Sam again. Some things never changed.

\---------------

After he’d finished his food, Dean had taken a much longer shower than usual. Old Sam would’ve given him holy Hell about using up all the hot water like a fucking girl. New Sam just asked him if he was okay. He nodded, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all. He’d needed a quiet place with his thoughts while he plotted his next course of action.

Sam had eaten his food while his brother had showered. The table was cleared off, all the garbage tossed, and he was laying again, on his back, eyes closed, facing the ceiling. 

Dean dressed quietly, plopping down in his own bed, sliding under the covers. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t figure why. It wasn’t like they’d done much of anything. Tension was knotting in his upper back and shoulders, he rolled them repeatedly, trying to get comfortable. Sam didn’t seem to notice, lazing easily on the other side of the room. All of the sudden, Dean resented his distance. 

“You gonna sleep all the way over there?” He grunted, crossly. Sam turned to him, cracking his eyes open sleepily, but smiling none the less. “Was thinking about it. You got a better idea?” Dean threw the covers back, and patted the empty space beside him. Sam rose, stretching lazily, then started to peel off the layers he still had on from outside. 

His coat came off first, he hung it primly over the back of the chair. Then his flannel shirt, also thrown over the chair. He hadn’t broken eye contact the entire time, and Dean could feel himself thickening in his sweats. Sam lifted his tshirt up over his head, revealing a wide expanse of toned, flawless skin. Dean bit back a moan as his little brother’s tongue smoothed over his lips, and he popped the button on his jeans. As he pushed the denim down his thighs, there was no mistaking the _deliciously_ impressive size of the bulge there. 

Strip tease done, Sam plopped down on the bed, his back to Dean, and the older man couldn’t help but spoon up against the younger’s back, cock pressed hard against the crease of his cheeks. He growled and nipped at his brother’s neck, hesitating briefly before sucking a mark into the skin just under his ear. Sam arched back against him, rolling his hips and whining. 

“You’re such a little fucking _brat_!” Dean ground out, unconsciously rubbing his rock hard cock against his brother’s ass. Sam gasped out at the sensation. “I know,” he chuckled breathlessly. 

The ground together this way for a long moment, Dean’s hand coming around to stroke up Sam’s to his nipples, tweaking them playfully, then down to cup and palm his heavy length. “Dean…” Sam whined out, needily, and the green eyed man seemed to remember where he was, what he was doing, who he was doing it with. 

He jumped back. “Shit, Sam. I can’t—I’m sorry.” He was gasping, trying to ignore his dick which was so obviously against everything coming out of his mouth. Sam turned to face him, nodding sagely, face red and breath coming ragged. “I get it. Don’t worry. You don’t want to, while I can’t remember. Like it would be taking advantage of me.” Dean shuddered in a huge breath at how accurately his brother had called it. He rolled to his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah,” he nodded, “that.” 

“Okay,” Sam muttered, voice bleak with disappointment, as he shifted to get out of bed, “I’ll just sleep in the other—“ 

Dean was lightening quick, rolling back, wrapping an arm around Sam and dragging him back up against his chest. “Like fucking hell,” he growled into his baby brother’s ear, reveling in his shiver. 

“I don’t want to, you’re right. It’s pervy and wrong.” He said aloud, trying to convince himself much more than Sam. He sighed raggedly, “But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to resist you, baby.” He nuzzled his nose into Sam’s neck again. “Fuck, you make me crazy.” 

The younger Winchester twisted to look at him, “So you’re saying you just need convincing?” he asked coyly, swiveling his hips on Dean’s dick again, making him hiss out between his teeth, arching back reflexively. 

“Shit, Sammy,” he breathed, nipping at the shell of his brother’s ear. “Will you let me _try_ to be a good person? Please?” 

But his hand was already moving, dipping under the waistband of Sam’s shorts, palming his considerable length. It was Sam’s turn to hiss and arch and Dean wrapped a rough hand around him, squeezing firmly. Precome bubbled from his slit, and Dean used it to wet the shaft, pumping up and down slowly. Sam’s hips thrust helplessly into his brother’s hand. “That’s it, baby. Fuck my hand. Just like that, sugar.” He drawled out, warmth coiling down his stomach and settling in his dick at Sam’s throaty moan. 

“Dean,” he whined, as his brother sucked at his neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to crest the peak between pleasure and pain. Sam’s thrust started coming faster, and more erratic and Dean had never seen anything more beautiful than his brother coming apart under his hands, spilling over himself with Dean’s name on his lips like a prayer.


	5. It's Ours, so it's Awesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean needs some relief, the boys go to the beach, Bobby calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this will be posted on Mondays. The 24 hour span of Mondays lol I want to give myself a lot of room.

“So good, Sammy. You came so fucking good for me,” Dean whispered, as he felt Sam drift off into a fucked out sleep. Slowly, he extricated himself, moving to the bathroom entirely on autopilot, washing his hands of his brother’s come, then wetting a washcloth in warm water, and bringing it back out to clean Sam. As the warm towel trailed over Sam’s heated skin, he mewled prettily, and Dean’s cock twitched against his belly. 

He discarded the towel in the bathroom sink and rolled back into bed, hand dragging tiredly over his face, the full weight of what he’d just done crashing down over him. His dick still throbbed, and Dean looked down at it as thought it’d done something to offend him. He’d just made his little brother come all over his hand. He should be having some sort of crisis right now, he was certain.  
Yet, the only guilt he could muster was for his complete lack of guilt. 

Sighing heavily, his hand skated down his chest, avoiding his engorged length to fondle his balls. The liquid lust pooling in his belly only seemed to intensify, but he forced himself to go slow, draw it out. His breath started to come ragged, thinking about all the positions he could have his baby brother laid out in, knowing that Sammy wouldn’t fight him, wouldn’t think he was disgusting for wanting it. No, Sam would be a willing participant. Sam would want it. Sam would _beg_. 

Dean moaned lustily, picturing his brother’s legs over his shoulders, thrusting into his tight heat again and again, his precious little Sammy begging him not to stop. Never to stop. _Please, Dean_ …

His hand slid up from his balls to stroke his shaft, hips canting up with every twist and pull. He knew he was whimpering, images of Sam still playing over and over in his head, he couldn’t stop. The orgasm was building, low in his belly, tightening his balls, and he knew it was going to be huge.

Another hand joined him on his weeping cock, and it took everything in Dean not to come just from the shock. Then his brother’s voice in his ear, “let me…” and a hot tongue ran up his neck, swirling in the hollow under his ear. Dean’s hips bucket impatiently. “So close, Sammy. I’m so fucking close,” Sam hummed into his neck, acknowledging that he’d heard. His fist tightened around Dean’s cock, “Fuck my fist, Dean. Come on, let go for me.” 

It was so easy to come apart after that, hips thrusting erratically, absolutely no control of the sounds coming out of his mouth, just Sam’s name over and over, dissolving into mindless whimpers and moans as his vision went white, his back arched, and he howled his release out into the night. 

He must’ve blacked out, because when the world was in color again, Sam was wiping him down with a warm rag, which he then tossed across the room somewhere, and snuggling up against Dean again.

\--------

Sam was up before him, on the laptop, pattering away. Sunlight streamed offensively through the windows, and it smelled, impossibly, of coffee. Dean groaned and rolled over. Too bright. Too much. Five more minutes.

“I wasn’t sure, so I stuck with the basics. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, y’know. There’s coffee too.” Sam called out cheerily. The older man froze. “There’s actually coffee in this room?” He muttered, half into the pillow. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but it sounded entirely to grumpy to be talking to someone who just got you breakfast.” Dean groaned, rolling over, blinking to adjust to the morning light. “There’s actually coffee?” Sam just rolled his eyes. “’Course there’s coffee. I actually wanted to get something _done_ today, which means I needed you to leave bed at some point.” Dean snorted at that, dragging himself out of bed and towards the heavenly smell of caffeine. 

After taking a long gulp, he gratefully accepted the bag of diner takeout Sam had gotten him. “How long’s this been here?” He asked cautiously. “I’d been back about five minutes before you woke up.” Sam shrugged, and Dean tore into the food with a child’s grace and glee. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, chewing and swallowing before asking, “What’re we doing?” Sam beamed at him, and Dean felt his cheeks heat. If manners had Sam smiling like that then, hell, maybe Dean could remember himself a little more often. 

“You said road trip. We’re going to the beach. Then we’re going to Sequoia National Park. Then we’re going to the Grand Canyon.” Dean nodded, running a napkin over his face. “Okay. Sounds good.” 

Sam was giddy as they backed up their belongings, almost bouncing with excitement. Any other time, Dean would’ve been giving him so much shit, but today, he just grinned right along with him. He hadn’t seen his brother this happy since….Fourth of July, 1996. It’d taken the burning down of an entire fucking field, but his Sammy’s smile had been brighter than any firework they’d set off, brighter than the fire they ran from. 

After that, it’d just been teenage angst, and then fights with their father, and then the empty desolation that had been Stanford. Then Jessica’s death. Then dad’s death. Shit, it was past time for Sammy to smile. 

They loaded everything into the Impala, checked out of the hotel, and hit the open road.

It was a perfect day, which was typical for southern California. The sun filtered through the windows in thick, butter yellow rays that warmed both men to the core. Sam held Dean’s hand and sang Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love loudly, if slightly off key. Dean didn’t think he’d smiled this much since…ever. They drove west, and west, and west, until the world faded away, and the ocean was laid out in front of them. 

Dean guided his Baby into a parking spot, and then cut the engine, glancing over at Sam, who was staring out at the sea like he’d never seen it before. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed out, and Dean smiled. “You said that the first time you saw it, too.” 

Sam just smiled hugely again, then raced out of the car and down to the water. Dean moved slower, pulling the keys from the ignition and getting out. He walked around to the front of the car, and leaned against the hood, watching his brother in a dead sprint toward the waves. He slowed about halfway, hopping as he attempted to roll his jeans high enough that the water wouldn’t reach them, shoes flying out behind him. Once he’d lost the correct amount of clothing, he dove into the spray. 

Unlacing his well worn work boots, Dean undressed as well, toeing the shoes off, stuffing his socks into them, rolling his jeans up to his knees. He made his way around to the trunk, pulling out some necessary supplies, and then sauntering down to where his brother play in the water. 

“Hey you,” he called out over the crash of the waves. Sam turned, his face was a dizzying mask of giddiness and glee. “This is awesome!” He laughed. Dean grinned in return. “It gets better,” holding up a shovel and pail, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Wanna make a sandcastle?” Sam was amused, “How did you make that dirty?” Dean smiled, then shrugged, “It’s a gift.” 

They walked slightly up and out of the water, finding a spot where the sand was still damp enough to be malleable, but dry enough not to be gross. Sam was nervous, he didn’t remember how to make one, so Dean helped, the same way he had the first, and last, time they’d been to the beach. His brother had been nine. They scooped sand into the bucket, then tipped them over, laughing the whole time. 

The routine was similar this time, except with Sam lamenting that his hands were too big to make anything do what it was supposed to, and Dean agreeing pretty wholeheartedly. 

When they were finished, their castle was slanted, and kind of falling apart. They stood to examine it, backs facing the water, setting sun in their eyes. “It’s awful.” Sam chuckled, but Dean shook his head. “It’s ours, so it’s awesome.” His brother responded by looping an arm around his waist. “You’re awesome.” Dean turned to inspect his brother, blinking lazily, smiling hugely. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, hand snaking up to behind Sam’s neck, bringing him up into a kiss. 

Everything he did with Sam now, he did like it was the last time, and this kiss was no exception. Tongues mapped each other’s mouth, Sam searching for something he remembered, Dean hungry for everything he could get. 

They were interrupted by the ring of Dean’s cell phone in his pocket. Growling, he pulled away. “Gotta get this,” he muttered, “could be Bobby.” Sam just nodded dumbly. 

“Yeah?”

“You managed to keep track of your brother so far?” Bobby’s generally grumpy tone greeted him on the other end of the line. “Nah, I dropped him off at a truck stop for making too much noise in the car. Of course I’ve got him, Bobby, what’s up?” There was an exasperated sigh. “Whatever’s up with Sam’s memory, it’s gotta do with the plane. The flight crew who switched assignments at LAX have no memory, but the ones that reboarded and flew off are fine. I’ve got a fix for it, but we’d have to be _on_ the plane for it to work.” 

“Tracking down planes not easy?” He rubbed his hand nervously against the back of his neck. Sam had resumed playing with sand. “Tracking down planes in the country is fine. We’re talking about an international jetliner, here, so no. Just sit tight. I’m working on it.”   
“Well, alright, anything we can do?” 

“Not really. Stay on the west coast. I’m hoping the universe’ll do us a favor, & the damn plane will end up back at LAX. Otherwise, try not to give your brother too hard of a time. & Y’all idjits stay out of trouble.” 

They disconnected. 

He slowly walked over to Sam. He was ecstatic. It was almost impossible to fix. He could have Sam, like this, forever. They could get out. Stop hunting. Get a place somewhere. Get jobs. Who knows? But he tamped down his excitement, knowing Sam might not be so thrilled about never remembering his past. 

“So,” he began slowly, “I’ve got news, on your, y’know, situation.” Sam looked up. “Yeah?” He responded easily. “Yeah. It’s the plane. Your memory is attached to the plane. If we can get you back on it, we may have a fix, but we’ve gotta track it down first, so…we’re just waiting.” 

“But we could get it back, if we could find the plane?” Dean nodded. Sam looked out over the water for a while, then sighed. “Well, I guess we wait then.” 

A kite soared over the sky, pulled by a laughing child and his father. “I had one of those…” Sam murmured. Dean nodded, but his brother couldn’t see him. 

“You wanna head out? If I drive irresponsibly, we might be able to make it to the park by little after nightfall, drive through a tree trunk first thing in the morning?” 

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” 

As they loaded everything back into the car, Dean made a vow to find some place to vacuum out the sand from the floorboards of the Impala, they got in and hit the road. Sam was quiet, and Dean was certain he was trying to figure out how to feel about the new information, but then: 

“Have I ever sucked your dick while you drove?” Sam tilted his head inquisitively. Dean choked, coughed, tried to regain his cool, but his voice cracked on a, “Nope,” Sam smiles devilishly. “Well, that must’ve been a _gross_ oversight on my part…” leaning over the bench to work at Dean’s fly.


	6. Fuckin' Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a disagreement, the tree tunnel sucks, and memories of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have the highest opinion of this chapter. Like, at all. So, if you think it sucks, that's cool, 'cause I think it sucks too, honestly.

They were in a motel in Three Rivers, and Sam was bitching. “You want to. I know you want to. And you know _I_ want to, so why aren’t we? I know there’s a lot of stuff I don’t know, but maybe you could explain it to me? Because I’m fucking dying here, Dean, and you’re not giving me a whole lot to work with.”

Dean was sprawled out on the bed, boring holes into the ceiling. “It’d be taking advantage of you, Sam. You don’t remember.” He bit out, again. It’d been a long time since he had been in a situation like this. Trying to convince some young, willing thing that there were valid reasons Dean wouldn’t have sex with them. He didn’t have a whole lot. _It’s incest!_ Was roaring through his head, but that was a massive rationalization. So kissing him, and humping him, and letting him suck your dick, all that wasn’t incest? 

And then Sam, fucking clairvoyant Sam, “So kissing me and letting me suck your dick, that’s not taking advantage?” Dean huffed a sigh, flinging his arm up over his eyes and muttered, “You’ve never been this horny in your entire fucking life. Why now, Sam? Shit!” He could hear Sam shuffling his feet across the room. “Maybe I have been, I’ve just been too nervous to say anything…” he muttered lowly. The older man groaned, cock fattening at the idea that his little brother had been pining, wanting, waiting for Dean the same way Dean had been waiting for him. “No,” he told himself as much as his brother, “You haven’t been. Trust me.” Pulling his arm from his face, he propped himself up on his elbow and looked at the younger man for the first time since this awful conversation had started. 

“What do you want, Sam?” 

“You. I just want you. And I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. And now we’re here, like this, and I just…” Dean arched an eyebrow, “I want to make the most of it, is all.” 

“C’mere.” Dean muttered. He didn’t know what he was going to do, only that they had to stop having this conversation. 

So when Sam sat down on the bed next to him, he kissed the younger man fiercely, pouring every single ounce of love and affection and need into the kiss, hoping he could somehow make him understand that it wasn’t for lack of wanting, he just couldn’t. Sam fisted his shirt and moaned into his mouth. 

Led purely by instinct, Dean pushed him back, against the bed, settling his weight on top of him. “You’ve always been fucking needy, Sam,” he whispered roughly into his brother’s ear, snaking a hand down to flick at Sam’s fly. “I’ve always given you what you needed.” He drug the zipper down, palming his brother’s hot, heavy cock. “Maybe not what you want, but what you need.” Breaking away, he tugged impatiently at Sam’s jeans, grateful that he was allowing himself to be distracted. “I always know what you need,” he muttered, more to himself than to Sam, but he was heard all the same. “What do I need, Dean?” he breathed, rising his hips off the bed so that Dean could pull his pants and boxers down. “You need something to fill you up, sweetheart,” Sam whined as Dean finished removing his clothes and immediately dove in to bite at the meaty part of Sam’s ass. He placed open mouthed kisses on the inside of Sam’s thighs, around his balls, closer and closer, until he licked tentatively over the puckered flesh at Sam’s center. His baby brother bucked his hips up once in anticipation. 

“Oh, liked that, did we?” Dean muttered, grinning lopsidedly. Sam just nodded. He couldn’t trust his breath. He licked again, swirling his tongue into the tight, tight muscles where Sam opened. Sam’s body tensed, then relaxed again as he let out a moan, which arched into a cry as Dean’s tongue continued to thrust in and out of him, almost desperately. Palms gripping Sam’s ass greedily, Dean continued thrusting his tongue into the hot heat awaiting him, occasionally sucking, which really drove Sam wild. 

“Dean, shit please, Dean, don’t stop. Give it to me, please, fuck, please, Dean, please…” Sammy was begging. And _fuck_ , Dean probably shouldn’t have been so fucking turned on but he was. He wasn’t going to fuck him, he told himself, resolutely, he wasn’t going to fuck him. Yet and still, he slid two fingers into Sam’s mouth, groaning obscenely at the suck and slobber Sam performed to keep the fingers wet. Meanwhile, Dean continued sucking Sam’s delicious hole, reveling in the sounds he tore out of his brother.

When his fingers were wet enough, he wrenched them from Sam’s mouth, earning himself a whine of loss in the process. He didn’t wait long before he shoved both of his fingers into his precious Sammy’s ass. 

Sam keened. He arched off the bed, gripping Dean’s forearms and holding on for dear fucking life. Dean had risen, wrapping his lips around his little brother’s delicious cock and going to town like any moment now, Sam would come to and remember how _wrong_ what they were doing was. 

But he didn’t.

So for Dean, the whole situation was a lot like Christmas.

He massaged his baby brother’s prostate under his two fingers, deeply enjoying the way Sam whined and moaned and writhed beneath him. 

Huge hands fisted into his hair as Sam fights with everything in him not to thrust, not wanting to mess with the rhythm set by Dean’s fingers. “Dean,” he whined, “Dean I’m so close. Fuck, faster. I need…” He tapered off into a moan. 

Dean sucked hard, twisting and thrusting his fingers faster, moaning against his brother’s skin as Sam came, spurting hotly into Dean’s waiting mouth.

\-----------------

The tree tunnel was absolutely the lamest thing they’d ever done. “We drove all the way out here for this?” Sam whined. Dean shook his head, equally dismayed. “It was awesome when we were—“ he cut himself off, immediately, “When we were here last. We were younger.” Sam nodded, miserably, as they drove through a part of the road where a massive tree trunk had fallen overhead. He guessed it could’ve been awesome, if he were eight. “It was dark then too,” Dean added, but nothing was really helping. They drove aimlessly through the park, they’d had entirely too much time allotted to this, thinking it would be awesome.

“Hey,” Sam perked up for a second. “Let’s park. Go for a walk or something.” Dean huffed, “You want to walk?” But Sam just laughed at him. “We’re always driving, or holed up in motel rooms having sex, Dean. Yeah. I wanna go for a walk. I want to talk to you, maybe. ‘Cause apparently you know me better than anybody, and we never talk about anything.” Dean was hesitant, there was a lot that could go wrong in a situation like that. But then he glanced over at his little brother, eyes alight like they had been when he was a child, and he broke. He never could deny Sam anything. 

“Sammy wants to walk,” he muttered under his breath. “Fine then. We walk.” 

They found a turn off with a trail, not hard to do in a national park, and they walked. Dean grumbled, of course, probably for the first quarter mile, but he realized he actually wasn’t having that bad of a time. It wasn’t often they got to hang out in the woods, listen to the sounds of nature, without being after something, having something after them, or both. “This ain’t so bad,” he said, off handedly, and Sam smiled. “See? I knew you’d like it.” They walked a little further before, “I think we should play a game.” Dean cocked his head, “What kind of game?” 

“20 questions, I think? You know more about me than I know about me. I feel like I should…know, more.” He shrugged nervously, liked he’d asked more too much. Dean wasn’t sure that he hadn’t. Certainly there were innocuous things he could tell him, but when would it turn into too much information? When would Sam started asking how he knew everything that he knew? He hedged his bets, let his baby brother bring the questions to him.

“Shoot.” 

“Oh. Wow. I wasn’t expecting, uhm…” he thought for a second. “What’s my favorite color?” Dean chuckled. “Green.” Sam made a small sound in his throat that sounded content. “Favorite book?” An eye roll, “fucking Catcher in the Rye.” 

“TV?” 

“You don’t watch TV, Sam. You listen to NPR, and read books.” He was grateful, these were the easy questions. 

But Sam. 

“Last relationship I was in?” 

Dean almost tripped over his own feet. Almost choked on air. Both of those things happened so fast that now he couldn’t even consider lying. “Her name was Jessica,” he wheezed out. “She…she passed away.”

Sam had stopped walking around the time Dean started making a complete ass of himself. “Fire,” he gasped out.

The older man turned to look at him, stunned. Sam looked like he was going to be sick, pale and clammy. “She died in a fire. I was there, I remember…” Dean’s heart stopped. Not yet, don’t remember yet, Sammy, _please_.

“I remember smelling the smoke, and the firefighters, and…she was blonde, right?” Dean nodded, dumbly. “I remember her, a little, I think.” 

Dean rolled his eyes to the sky, but couldn’t see it for the trees, birds chirping, squirrels running around merrily. Right now? He hated all of it. “Fuckin' nature,” he muttered, leaning down to stroke a piece of Sam’s hair out of his face. “How ‘bout we head back to the car? Maybe stop and get something to eat?” 

Sam just nodded, still pale and sick looking, his color not coming back to him for all the fresh air in the world.


	7. It's the Grand Canyon, Sammy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean makes Sam a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like pulling teeth to get these out, lately. Normally, in my writing career, this is where I'd just stop writing, and you'd be left wondering how the story ends. 
> 
> I'm trying really hard not to do that. I appreciate your patience.

“Burgers and fries and beer.” Dean muttered, once they were settled back into the car. Sometimes, the older man thought to himself, he felt like this was the only place where he could make the world right. Whatever was wrong, Dean could fix it in the car. He turned his best big brother gaze on Sam, “sound good?” He drawled, in a tone that didn’t really leave room for argument. Not that Sam had any intention of arguing. His head was pounding, stomach roiling. Food was probably good. Beer was probably better. “Sure,” the younger man ground out. Dean inclined his head once, sharply, and guided the car back to the highway. 

The windows were down and the music was too loud, just the way they liked it. Sam’s color came back slowly, aided by the wind in his face, whipping at his hair. “We gonna stop for food?” He muttered eventually. The response was hesitant, “I was waiting till you didn’t look like you’d just puke it up.” Sam shook his head slowly, “Nah, I think I’m good man. But my stomach feels…I should probably eat.” Dean nodded and pulled off at the first exit they saw. 

The diner they finally found was shabby, but it smelled delicious from the parking lot. They went it, sat down, Dean ordering some coffee from an older waitress, Sam sipping on his complimentary water. “Where we headed now?” He asked miserably. “Dude, perk up. We’re going to the Grand freaking Canyon. The tree tunnel may have been lame, but there’s _nothing_ lame about the Grand Canyon. It’s gonna be awesome.” He beamed. Sam just stared at him, dumbfounded. “We’re still going?”   
Now it was Dean’s turn to look dumbfounded. “Of course we’re still going. Why wouldn’t be going?” He watched as his brother shrugged, morose. “Maybe because my brain is like, breaking or something?” Dean just waved him off, scoffing. “You’re always broken, Sammy. We’re still going.” 

And, just like that, Sam was beaming at him. It was moment like these that Dean prayed to whoever the hell was listening that his brother never remembered anything before stumbling upon him in an airport. Sam with a memory didn’t smile like this. Dean’d only been trying to get it out of him for…ever. 

They ate voraciously, Sam’s excitement flooding the table, seeping into everything. Dean tipped the waitress way too much for her meager service, grinning as they walked out to the car. Once they were settled, Dean reached into the backseat and grabbed a beer out of the cooler, handing it to Sam. “What about you?” He asked. “I’ll drive responsibly till we get there.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, still smiling as the car wound its way down the road.

\------------------------------

“Tomorrow,” it was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He’d been into the whiskey prettily steadily since they’d gotten to the motel. It was late, and he was tired, in more than one way, he was so tired.

So when Sam stepped out of the bathroom, broad shoulders and narrow waist still dripping wet, hair shaggy, his mouth had moved without his permission. 

“Was there more to that?” Sam asked, dryly, arching his eyebrow. “Tomorrow,” Dean said slowly, “after the Canyon,” he paused, took another drink, liquid courage at its finest, “I’m going to fuck you ‘till you can’t see.” 

Across the room, Sam visibly shuddered, his towel tenting as his cock thickened beneath it. “What changed your mind?” The older man just shrugged, “I told you I didn’t know if I was going to be able to resist you.” Sam smiled shyly, dropping his towel to exchange it for sweats. Dean swallowed loudly. “Buy me dinner first?” 

Green eyes met hazel across a crappy hotel room and Dean felt pinned, open, almost like he couldn’t breathe. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Once, twice, then finally, “Yeah, Sammy.” He breathed out, with great difficulty, “wherever you want.” Propped up against the headboard, his brother smiles fondly, and pats the space next to him. “Come to bed, Dean,” he murmurs, and Dean does. Sam is reading, where he got a book from, Dean doesn’t even know, and there’s nothing sexual about their laying in bed together, but there’s nothing brotherly about it either. It’s intimate, in a way Dean’s wanted to be, but couldn’t, for a long time. 

He lets himself lay there, feeling Sam’s heat next to him, every muscle in his body relaxing in the pleasure of just being closed to someone he loved this much. It’s not a thing he’d ever thought he’d get the chance to experience. With their lifestyle, it was few and far between, but this…

He didn’t notice he’d drifted off until Sam leaned over and hit the light, dropping his book on the nightstand and curling up beside him. He wrapped his arms around Sam, bringing him in as tight as he could, and then left himself float back off into sleep.

\---------------------------

The next morning, Sam was excited. He didn’t show his excitement in the normal ways. Oh, no. That would be entirely too easy.

So instead, he slipped into Dean’s shower that morning, sucked him off pressed up against the tile wall, leaving him breathless and strung out. 

He crowded him up against the motel room door before they left, set teeth to his ear, and muttered “God, I can't wait to have you inside me, Dean. I want you _now_ ” And then ran his huge palm over the brand new bulge in his jeans. 

Eventually, Dean has to grab him by both forearms to still him. “The Grand Canyon, Sammy. The Grand friggin' Canyon. If you can’t behave, we’ll never get to see it.”   
Sam pouts, put it gets them out of the motel room, so Dean’s pretty proud of himself.

And it’s worth it, completely to see the look on Sam’s face when he sees it. Dean’s pretty blown away himself, and he’s seen it before. 

“It’s unbelievable.” Sam murmurs. “All the bullshit in the world, you know? Just the really shitty stuff,” his eyes are out over the distance, and he’s leaning back against the hood of the car. “And then there’s stuff like this. Do we do this a lot?” He tilts his head towards his brother, “stop and look at the good stuff?” Dean shakes his head. “Not a lot of time in our business, really,” he replies, uncomfortable because this is getting a little too close to home. But Sam just shakes his head, sadly. “We should. We totally should.” 

Dean sighs and straightens, going to lean next to his brother. “We’ll do it more, Sam. I promise.” He said, solemnly. Then his eyes light up and a grin plasters itself on his face. “Hey, how long do you think it’d take this rock to it the bottom if I chucked it?” 

Sam gives him this barely restrained smile, like he has no idea how he got stuck with him, and he isn’t sure if he should be complaining or not, before he says, “Classy, Dean, really.” 

Dean just stood there for a while, looking at him, heart tripping over itself in his chest. That smile had been so…Sam. It was crazy. And it shouldn’t make this whole thing hotter, those glimpses when it felt like he really was talking to his little brother, and not just some stranger wearing his body. But God it did. As much as he wanted to pray for a little bit more, he was also terrified that this was the end of the road for the little game they’d been playing. That Sammy would come back to himself soon, and it’d be all over. 

Shaking his head, he decided not to think about it. Gift horse and all. So he chewed on French fries and sipped beer, looking out over the Grand Canyon with Sam until the sun was near setting, in a completely comfortable silence

\------------------

The place where they eat dinner is entirely too expensive, but Dean doesn’t care. Sam does, apparently. “Dude, this is ridiculous. When I told you to take me to dinner, I didn’t mean…” he gestures at the dimly lit décor of the restaurant. “Hell, we could’ve ordered Chinese.” All of this is said in a furious whisper, as not to attract the attention of the classy patrons.

“Sammy, seriously, do you even remember anything that’s not diner food or takeout?” Dean arched an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember my fucking middle name, alright! That totally isn’t the point!” Sam hissed back, and Dean choked back a laugh. “Fine, fine. _I_ can’t remember anything other than shitty diner food and takeout. Weren’t you just saying we needed to pay more attention to the good stuff?” He was rewarded with an eye roll for his trouble. “Yeah, but twice in one day? This is too much attention. Can we afford this?” 

Dean huffed, slumping in his chair a little. “Seriously, Sammy, would you just shut up and let me spoil you. For once? A little?” His eyes fell, but he wasn’t pouting, damnit, because he was man, and men didn’t pout. 

Sam’s hand covers his on the table, and when he looks up, there’s nothing but fondness in the hazel eyes looking back at him. “Yeah, Dean. Sure.” He smiles a little, then pats Dean’s hand twice and pulls back, “Now stop pouting and date me, since you want to so bad.” 

Dean’s smile is undoubtedly the brightest thing in the candlelit room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to inspire me, you should give me courage on [tumblr](http://worththeapplepie.tumblr.com).


	8. We Always Need to Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys finally have sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long author's note: it's the first week of sophomore year of college. The charger on my laptop broke. My backup laptop broke. I wrote this whopping four thousand word chapter on my cell phone. Never ever doubt that I love you.
> 
> Oh, and porn. Like, basically all porn.

Sam was tipsy. He'd stopped himself just shy of drunk, switched to water because, "I want to remember it. All of it. I don't want any of it fuzzy." And the look he'd given Dean in that moment-- all desire and intent and importance, like what they see were about to do was _so_ huge-- made Dean switch to water too. 

Now, he couldn't figure out if his situation would be better or worse if he'd stuck to the whiskey. His downfall had been forcing Sam to order dessert.

"Live a little, Sammy. You had a damn salad, balance the scale! Set the universe to rights!" He'd said. Sam had smiled that shy, flirty smile he'd been smiling all night, and ordered some chocolate mousse thing. Dean had felt like a hero.

But he wasn't a hero. He was a fucking idiot. Because now Sam was moaning over chocolate mousse, sucking obscenely on a spoon, the occasional, "oh my god," or, "so fucking good," falling from his lips like he couldn't help himself, and Dean was squirming in his seat, trying not to imagine those lips wrapped around his cock. Realizing simultaneously that those lips _could_ be wrapped around his cock, as soon as he could separate Sam from his damn chocolate and get the check. He felt like he was going to explode of he had to watch Sammy suck on that spoon under candlelight for too much longer. 

"Sam," he ground out, voice raw with want. His brother's eyes flicked up to his. "You want some of this?" He said, completely oblivious, gesturing to the half dome of chocolate still left on his plate. Dean shook his head. "I'll have mine back at the hotel," he said, and Sam caught the reference immediately. "Yeah?" He scooped up another spoonful of mousse and slid it into his mouth, his tongue perking out to trace every inch of the silver until it was clean. Jesus, and Dean thought he was bad before. "Sammy..." He warned, "I am not classy. I do not care about these fine, upstanding people and their sensibilities or their forty dollar steak," his voice lowered, "I will bend you over this fucking table--"

Sam shuddered, the spoon fell out of his hand, he caught just before it clattered against the plate. His eyes came back to Dean's. "Get the check already." 

They were old pros at this. Dean called for the check, charged it to one of the cards they hadn't used yet. Sam paid the tip cash, thanked their server, smiled at everyone. It was just like any other time they'd left a diner. The thought did strange things to Dean's stomach. Made it feel like this was _normal_ for them. Like they went out on dates and came home from them all the time. He never realized how much he wanted this with Sam, and now that he had it he wanted to squeeze it for every drop it had. 

So, in the cool night air of the parking lot, he grabbed his brother by the forearm, swung him around, and kissed him. It was slow, and sweet and fucking perfect. Sam made the softest sound in his throat, brought his hand up to trace Dean's jaw, gripped the other into the side of his leather jacket. They kissed until a couple of assholes across the street started jeering slurs in their general direction, and then Sam tensed up again. Dean slipped a hand around his back, under his jacket. He wasn't gonna let a few jerks ruin the moment. He had a gun, and if they had enough of a problem to come over here, he'd use it. 

"Dean," Sam murmured against his lips, "we should probably-" 

"Fuck 'em," Dean responded roughly, sliding the hand that had been on Sam's arm around to his hip and pulling him closer. Sam whined, "no, fuck me. Forget them. Come on..." Their hips were flush against each other, and Sam ground down once, rutting into Dean's hip. "Fuuuck..." The older man breathed into his neck and Sam smiled, "exactly." 

They untangled themselves and moved to their respective sides of the car, tires screeching as Dean peeled out of the driveway. 

Sam was on him before they'd made it to the first light. Sliding over the bench, he whispered into Dean's ear, "You're gonna be so much better than the chocolate mousse." He nipped at Dean's earlobe, tongue tracing the line of his jaw, dropping down to suck at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Dean hissed as Sam trailed a firm hand up the inseam of his jeans, cupping the bulge he found. 

"Sam. I've gotta drive the fucking car. So you need to behave, alright?" He snapped, or tried to, but there was a wobble in his voice he couldn't shake. "You telling me you can't handle the car?" Dean could hear his grin against his ear. "Of course I can handle the car, Sam, I just need a little-" Sam squeezed his dick through the denim of his jeans, "Fuck! I need you to not do that. Not until I can get two hands on you. 'Cause, Christ, when I can get two hands on you..." 

The lights of the motel flashed like salvation for Dean as he swerved into the lot, kicking up gravel in his wake. Pulling into a spot in front of their room, he had his door open before he'd gotten the car all the way parked. They scrambled out, Sam ahead, Dean stalking behind him, covering the stretch between the car and the door in four long strides. 

Sam was barely through the door before it was closed and he was pushed back against it. Dean stepped in close, pressing them together from shoulder to knee, cupping his face in both hands and pulling him down for a kiss. The pose was sweet but the kiss was filthy. They dove into each other, Sam licking into Dean's mouth, Dean sucking on Sam's tongue. It was wet and hot and sweet and dirty. 

Dean was dazed when Sam pushed him back, back, until his thighs hit the foot of the bed, and then pushed him down on it. The older man shimmied up and propped himself up on his elbows. He watched as the taller man dropped and situated himself between his legs. "Take your shirt off," he grunted, making brief eye contact, before diving in to work at Dean's belt buckle. 

Dean's fingers felt huge and thick on his hands as he fumbled to get button through button hole on his dress shirt. Sam wasn't suffering from the same lack of coordination. He unlaced the worn work boots and removed them quickly and quietly. He got Dean's belt off with ease, making quick work of the top button and zipper, patting the older man's hip until he lifted, pulling jeans and underwear down together, and sliding them over Dean's feet. 

Crawling back into his spot between Dean's legs, he takes a moment to examine the hard, leaking cock before him. Dean had gotten the buttons undone on the shirt and given up. It was pulled open to reveal the black tank top Dean wore under it. "Too many clothes," Sam pouted. The older man scrambled to shrug himself out of the dress shirt, Sam rising to straddle his hips, pulling the tank top off himself. 

They kissed for a long moment, Dean tugging at Sam's own button down. "What about you?" He panted, hotly, against Sam's mouth. His little brother gave him an evil grin and shook his head, sliding back down until his face was level with Dean's flushed red cock. 

He kissed the head, tongue flicking out over the slit, lapping up the precome he found there. Dean, still propped on his elbows, let his head roll back while he enjoyed the sensation. Sam ran his tongue up the underside of Dean's cock, reveling in the shiver that earned him. He kissed and licked and mouthed at the whole surface of the hot, hard dick before him. 

Dean had resorted to whining incoherently and shifting his hips around, trying to coax Sam into sucking him properly. He was half out of his mind with lust. So when Sam finally succumbed to his own desires, enveloping Dean's dick in his mouth and sucking hard and fast, it tore a sharp cry from the other man. 

"Fuck! Sam..." His hips thrust up and his fingers tangled into his baby brother's hair. Sam's arm came up to pin his hips down. Slowly, he swallowed around Dean's leaking cock until every inch was in his mouth. Dean's face was a picture of ecstasy, breath coming fast and hot, face flushed, sheen of sweat glossing his features. "Sam, Sam, shit, Sam get up here. I don't wanna...fuck you're so fucking good, I don't wanna come this way..." He whined. 

Sam's mouth slid off Dean's cock with an obscene pop, curving up into a salacious smile. "So much better than the chocolate mousse," he affirmed, crawling up Dean's body on all fours like a cat. He straddled the older man's thighs with his own and leaned down to meet his lips. 

He let Dean roll him over and undress him slowly, liking the pace he set. When he was entirely undressed, Dean dragged a pillow down from the top of the bed and tucked it under Sam's hips. He ran his hands over his hips, thighs, bit down quickly on the meaty part of his ass, licked a gentle stripe over his hole, sucked Sam's balls into his mouth briefly, then did it all over again. "Dean," Sam whined, arching and twisting under firm hands, "Dean, _please_..."

It was what Dean had been waiting for. His eyes flitted up to meet his brothers with a smile. "What do you want, baby boy? My tongue? My fingers? My cock? Tell Daddy what you need, baby. Come on..." He dove back into his pattern: touching, squeezing, kissing, biting, licking, sucking until Sam was half sobbing, teeth clenched hard around his fist. "Your hands. Give me...holy fucking shit, Dean, put your fingers in me, please..." Dean was high off Sammy's begging, wanted to see how far he could push him. "Please what?" He growled, pausing his ministrations to lube up two fingers. Sam moaned lustily. "Dean," he breathed, hesitant, like he couldn't believe Dean was going to make him say it. 

The green eyed man stroked lube slick fingers around and over his brothers puckered hole. Sam's breathing picked up again. "Come on, Sammy. I'm right here. I've got you. Please, what?" He didn't realize how much he needed this and now it was right here, writhing under him. This dirtyhot thing that he could never do with his brother that he was _doing_ with his **brother**. He shot Sam a look meant to convey his need, and Sam caught it, shivering, nodding, "Please Daddy..." He moaned out, cresting into a high whine as Dean sunk two fingers into him up to the second knuckle. Propping himself up on his arm, he watched his baby brother as his plunged his fingers in and out, twisting and scissoring. He crooked his fingers experimentally, the tip of his middle catching Sam's prostate and making him moan as he thrust his hips, effectively moving himself down on Dean's fingers. 

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on Daddy's fingers. Just like that. You're so fucking good for me." Dean encouraged, quietly, lubing up a third finger and pressing it in.

Sam's back arched off the bed, filth spilling from his mouth as he rolled his hips. "Shit, Daddy, give it to me. Oh my god. Oh my fucking God. Harder. Harder, please," he whined, and Dean gladly gave him what he asked for, ramming his fingers into his little brother's hole. Sam's hands scrabbled out at his sides, clutching the sheets desperately, trying to get _more_. 

Dean couldn't take it anymore. Rising onto his knees, he slowly pulled his fingers out of his brother, grinning at his whimper of loss. He lubed and lined up his dick quickly, hesitating at his brother's entrance. Their eyes locked, Sam's hazel ones turning almost murderous with lust as he bit out, "Don't you dare fucking tease me, Dean. Don't you fucking dare." 

Dean slid in, slowly, giving Sam ample time to adjust. His blood was boiling beneath his skin-- the desire to fuck his brother into the mattress was overwhelming-- but this was about Sam. Whatever Sammy needed, he'd get. 

So when the younger man wrapped his arms around him, pulled him down, nibbled his ear and whispered, "I need you to fuck me, Daddy. I need you to fuck me **so** hard," Dean lost it. 

Rising back up on his knees, he lifted Sam's legs up over his head and started thrusting, hard and fast into the tight, tight heat of his brother's ass. Every movement punched a lusty sound out of Sam and Dean loved it. "Fucking gorgeous, baby boy. God, you feel so fucking good." He moaned, griping his brother's hips, trying to get deeper inside, needing to be closer. The sensation of the head of his dick dragging against the bump of Sam's prostrate was amazing. 

He never wanted it to stop, flying on the feeling of having Sam like this. It was addictive. He couldn't go back to the way things were, to not having this. Bringing Sam's legs down from his shoulders to around his waist, he leaned down and caught him in a deep kiss. Sam's heels dug into his ass, his hands tangled in his hair. When they pulled out of the kiss, Sam was panting almost incoherently, "Yes, Daddy, fuck me, please, yes, so good, oh my god, don't stop, fuck..." His hand unwound itself from Dean's hair, moving to grip his cock. Dean intercepted it, pinning it above him. 

"Want you to come on my cock, baby. Just my cock. Can you do that for me?" Sam nodded dumbly, pulling Dean in for another kiss. The older man was so close to coming apart himself, but trying to keep his strokes steady and smooth until Sam reached completion. Still, he couldn't stop the words falling out of his mouth, "love you, Sammy. Fucking love you. Gonna keep you, just like this, baby boy. You're mine now, hear me? _Mine_."

With that, Sam's eyes rolled back in his head and he whimpered as he came, hard and hot between their bellies. His ass clenched deliciously around Dean's jaggedly thrusting cock, and he followed his baby brother right over the edge. 

He held himself over Sam for as long as he could, trying to preserve the warmth of afterglow. A tendril of panic was curling through him, and he couldn't meet his brother's eyes. It'd be just his fucking luck if Sam remembered everything right now. Sex had a way of doing that in supernatural situations, right? And he couldn't take this back. He couldn't undo it, he didn't want to. _Fuck, fuck, fuck..._ he thought to himself bitterly. His arms started to shake. 

"Dean..." Sam's hand stroked over his jaw gently, so he dragged his eyes up to meet his brothers. "You're gonna fall. Roll over," was all he said. There was a shuddering, broken sigh, which Dean refused to admit came from him, as he rolled to his back, and then off the bed, into the bathroom to get a towel for Sam and clean himself up.

Once that was done, Sam rolled back against him, head resting on the older man's chest, and murmured sleepily, "Why the hell did we wait so long?" Dean smiled, fingers tangled in Sam's hair. "It was important, okay? That's why it was so good. Because we waited, and made it important." Whatever Sam murmured was tacitly taken as agreement, and Dean continued to play in his hair, as his brother grew heavier and heavier with sleep against his chest.

\-------------

Sunshine spilled over the room in the morning, warm and gauzy like butter, highlighting all the good things in Dean's life, starting with his brother's head on his chest. He blinked twice at the ceiling, smiling brilliantly. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't afraid it'd wake Sam up. This had to be a dream it was entirely too good to be any sort of reality he'd ever lived in.

If it was, he decided as Sam started to stir, he'd take it. Any dream where he could have his brother like this, where nothing was after them and they were after nothing, was one he could die in happily. 

"G'morning," Sam murmured, voice still thick with sleep. "Morning, baby," Dean sighed back, still floating on a cloud of contentment. He shivered as Sam's fingers skated down his side and up again, before his brother rolled off him, onto his back and stretched luxuriously. "God, I feel great." He sighed, and Dean swore his jaw was going to break from smiling. "Me too, kid. Me too." 

Rising from bed, he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, take a quick shower. When he stepped out of the shower, he heard Sam call out to him, "Where are we going next? I mean...don't we need to like, work or something?" Dean smiled, opening the door and leaning his head out. "We've got vacation days out the ass, sweetheart. We can take more time. It's only been a few days." 

Wrapping a towel around himself, he pondered for a second as he walked into the room again. "What do you think about Vegas?" He asked offhandedly as Sam brushed past him to get into the bathroom himself. "Vegas could be good," Sam shrugged. "I don't think I really know how to gamble..." Dean laughed as the other man brushed his teeth. "You do, you're scary at a poker table, but it's fine. We'll put you at the slot machines if you're worried." He dropped back down on the bed when he was mostly dry, foregoing clothes because, well, fuck it. The sun was shining, the room was warm and life was great. 

Sam came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dropping wet and beautiful in the morning sun. He toweled off briefly, before laying on the bed beside Dean, pressing wet kisses to his neck. Dean hissed and tilted his head, giving his brother better access. The kisses trailed up his jaw, nipping lightly as they went. He leaned into them, meeting the younger man in a steamy kiss. 

Hooking a leg over Dean, Sam rolled them so that he was on top, and continued kissing him, want spilling from one mouth to another, communicating desires neither of them had figured out how to say. 

Not breaking the kiss, Sam shifted so that their cocks brushed up against each other, and Dean swelled to full hardness almost immediately. "Sammy..." He murmured against his brother's lips. But Sam just shushed him, and attacked his mouth again. 

Snaking a hand down, he took both of their now throbbing erections and pumped once. Dean's hands, which had been wrapped around Sam's middle trailed down to his ass, kneading softly as Sam began to pick up a rhythm. Both of them were still damp from the shower, and the friction they created was delicious. When Dean came up for air, his head lolled back, eyes following, and he uttered a shaky moan. Sam's thumb swirled over their slits on the upstroke, and Dean's hips jerked up without warning. 

"Shiiiit, do that again," he muttered when he found the air. Sam smirked and did as he was told, dipping down to suck a mark into the soft skin at Dean's neck. 

It was embarrassing, Dean decided, almost resentful, how fast his little brother was about to make him come. They were both breathing hard now, alternating kissing and stuttering intakes of breath. "So good," Sam muttered, "fuck, Dean, it feels so good," and Dean could only nod in agreement and take his mouth again. 

Sam picked up the pace, hips thrusting into his fist now, grinding down against Dean, who's hands were still on his ass. They urged him to faster, deeper, more. "Don't stop," Dean whined, lost in the pleasure created between them. Sam's thrusts turned ruthless, his grip tightening on their cocks. He dropped his head so that his wrecked breaths puffed right up against Dean's ear. His teeth catch and worry at the lobe, and all at one Dean is gasping, panting, and spilling all over his baby brother's hand. 

"Fuck, you shouldn't feel this good," Sam huffs out and one, two, three pumps later, his come joins his brother's, pooling together on Dean's stomach and Sam's hand. 

Reaching over, Sam grabs the tanks top Dean was wearing the night before and uses it to clean them off. He then collapses half on top of Dean, and they both slip comfortably back into sleep.

\------------

When they come to, Sam is hungry, and Dean is too thrilled to deny him anything.

Leaving his brother to drift in and out of sleep contentedly, he rises, gets dressed and heads out, smiling when he realizes its only eleven o clock. 

He finds a fast food joint, orders their usuals, and tons of coffee. He's smiling and humming to the radio when his phone rings. "Hey, Bobby," he grins into it. There's a huge sigh of relief on the other end, "Balls, I was worried about you two. But I can hear it in your voice, I'm glad everything's back to normal. You ready for the bad news?" Dean's smile faltered. 

"Wait, run that by me again?" 

"Well it's all over the news. All the passengers from that flight magically came back to themselves sometime yesterday. I should've called you then but the timeline rang a bell for me, so I ended up with my head in a book most of the night. Sam's alright, though, isn't he?" 

Yesterday. _**Yesterday?**_ Dean's brain was going a mile a minute. "Yeah, he fine," he choked out. 

"And you didn't give him too hard a time while his memory was on vacation, didja? How'd you get him to stick anyway?" Dean ignored the first question, had to. "I'm just a persuasive son of a bitch, Bobby. Now gimme the bad news." 

"Yeah, alright, don't get your panties all twisted. It looks like some sort of Argentinian revenge spirit. Takes the memories of a bunch of people, leaves one's memory intact, lets it run five days, then punishes the one who remembers if they take any unfair advantage." Dean's stomach dropped. "So how'd you get him to stick?" 

"Did what I had to." Dean replied vaguely. "Do we need to worry?" Bobby replied, rephrasing. "We always need to worry," Dean growled, "now how do we kill this damn thing?" 

"Not sure yet. I was hoping...don't know why though. You're right. We always need to worry. Stay safe as you can. I'll call you when I've got something." And the line went dead. 

Dean just sat, stock still in the front seat of the Impala thinking, yesterday. Yesterday. Sam knew who they were _**yesterday**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Also, do you tumble? You should come tumble with me [here](http://worththeapplepie.tumblr.com)


	9. For the Goddamn Inconvenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which revenge spirits arrive, and decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, housekeeping stuff, another chapter written on my phone. I should be getting the charger thing fixed today though, so that's good. The next chapter is the last, so it'll probably be long. You should, however, definitely come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://worththeapplepie.tumblr.com)

The food was cold by the time Dean got back to the motel. He sat outside for a long while, not even knowing where to _begin_ on sorting this whole thing out. He felt angry, but elated. Lied to, but blessed. He couldn't understand why Sam hasn't just told him. Obviously he was interested. 

The conflict was raging just under his skin. He was confused, and angry and buzzing with it. Yet, the only person with any answers was inside. Sitting in the car grumbling wasn't going to solve anything. So he got out, cold food and all, violently turning the key in the lock. 

Just to find Sam, sprawled out on the bed like a centerfold, naked and fisting his cock. Dean's hand tightened around the bag of fast food. His blood boiled, and he wished was with rage, but it wasn't. _Low fucking blow, Sammy_ , he thought crossly as he made his way into the room, tossing the food on the table. 

"Was wondering when you were gonna come in," Sam breathed. A blurt of precome slid down his cock, and he hissed and arched into it when it met his hand, easing his passage. 

_How long have you been playing me?_

_How long have you been **lying** to me?_

_Did you ever plan to stop?_

The questions poured through Dean like molten lava, burning him from the inside out. 

"How long have you been playing with your cock, Sam?" He didn't recognize his own voice. He was betraying himself with his words right now. There were much more important things for them to be talking about. 

"Since a little before you pulled up. I missed you," his little brother. Fuck, _his little brother_ , replied. Dean felt his cock thicken up and throb in its confinement. What he'd always wanted was this. And here it was, laid out all pretty and...

He clenched his teeth. "Put some clothes on. You and I need to have a little chat." 

SAMs hand faltered for a moment, then he smiled, "You want to talk right now? I can think of better things to do with my mouth," he pulled his legs up toward his chest, exposing the puckered flesh at his center, "and yours." 

Dean could hear his molars grinding in his mouth, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to regain some composure. When he opened then again, he hoped that they were firm and expectant. "Sam?"

The taller man scrambled off the bed, pulling on some sweats, no shirt. He situated himself in the other chair, placing a hand on Dean's arm, "are you alright? You're acting a little weird." Dean just looked at the hand, then back at his brother. "Are you fu--," he took a deep breath, "Do you have something to tell me, Sam?" Sam's hand fell away, and he retreated back into himself. "You're freaking me out?" Dean watched his eyes, waiting for the lie in them. "Anything else?"

Sam sighed, pushed a hand through his hair raggedly. Dean all the sudden felt sick to his stomach. He realized that Sam had been able to fake his memory, but his old mannerisms were back. And he'd noticed. Thought it was making the situation _hotter_ and God, was this thing fucked up. "Dean?" Sam said, expectantly, and the older man snapped out of his thoughts, "yeah?" His brother stared at him for a second, mouth working, but no words coming out. Then he sighed, dropped both hands in his lap, "I asked if I could have a hint as to what it is we're talking about."

This nauseating anger in Dean was driving him to distraction. He reached for the whiskey, took a long swig. "I talked to Bobby today." He supplied. Sam perked up, "Oh, did he find the plane?" 

"Turns out it wasn't an issue. Everyone got their memory back yesterday." He met his brother's eyes over the rim of the bottle. Sam's brows furrowed in what looked like honest to God confusion. He remembered, hell was it five days ago? Thinking his baby brother couldn't fake that look. He snorted derisively, "You're good. I'll never play poker with you again." 

Sam's hand covered his on the table, he looked pained. "Dean. I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm sorry if I should remember, but I don't. I know," he looked down, "I know you probably really want me to. I can't be much good to you like this. And you're spending all this money and using all your vacation and I'm just...I get it. The old Sam was probably more useful." 

Dean scoffed, swigged some more whiskey, rose, paced. Sammy was being really fucking convincing, but that was probably half his dick talking. If Sam did remember, they would have to have, like, _conversations_ about the last few days. They'd have to talk about what it meant and how they felt and, fuck, all that sounded awful. But if Sam was telling the truth, then everything was fine.

"No," he found himself choking out, "No. Because if you're lying, even if I believe you, there's still, a price to be paid. For taking advantage of you." 

"A price?" Sam looked equal parts confused and terrified. Dean nodded once. "Do I even want to know what that means?" Their eyes were level, neither of them looking away, "I think you already do." 

"Dean...."

They were both quiet for a long time. Eventually, Dean stopped pacing, settled at the foot of the bed. He pressed a hand to his temple and tried to regulate his breathing. 

The ring of the phone was deafening. 

"Yeah, Bobby?"

"You boys might be fine. She's gonna show up. The only way to get her to go away is if Sam can convince her you didn't take advantage of him." 

"Can we kill her?" Dean grunted. 

"Why would you need to?"

"For the goddamn inconvenience!" He hung up, flinging his phone across the room. It landed at the very edge of the other bed, bounced off and fell. 

"What'd he say? Who are we killing?" Sam said quietly. Dean looked over at him, hating himself. Whatever happened here was his fault. But, "Sammy, sweetheart, I don't...I don't know why you would lie to me about this. I don't know if you are. But if you _are_ , Sam...something's coming for me. And I'm not gonna be able to beat it without you. So if you are lying, if you are...I don't...I don't care, Sam, but you gotta stop." 

Rising, Sam met Dean at the foot of the bed, careful not to touch him. "I'll do my best, but I don't know..."

And when their eyes met this time, Dean could tell that Sam knew more than he was saying. He cold feel it in his bones. So he nodded, dumbly, and took another swig of his whiskey. 

"You lose points," came a new voice from the corner of the room, "for attempting intoxication in my presence. The level of disrespect!" 

Sam turned immediately to take her in. She was stunning, with deep olive skin and dark hair, spun into a gold gown that was preternaturally flattering to her figure. She smiled at him, he looked away quickly. 

Dean missed the whole exchange, shrugging and taking another swig. "May well be my last night on Earth. I'm going out drunk." Her laughter rang through the room. "While I don't see how that's different than any other Tuesday for a Winchester, I do have to ask if you have someone you're expecting once I've gone? I'm no murderer, love." 

Now Dean did turn to face her. Looking at her, he remembered once when he was eight or nine, telling his father that he could die happy as long as he was killed by something pretty. This one fit the bill nicely. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Well, I'm Nymeria. I punish, sure, but often the best punishment is to have to live with the guilt, I think. So I just figure which part of you did the most sinning, and I take it. You'll live out the rest of your days same as you would've without me." 

"So what if it was his mind?" Sam murmured, and her eyes flashed to his, flared gold. "Ah, he speaks. Well, I would take the part of the mind with the need to manipulate, or take advantage of. Sometimes it's just a matter of altering a twisted desire. I make people _better_. I change the world for good, boys. There's no need to fear me." 

"Do that, then. Just, straighten out all the sick parts of me. Do that." Dean blurted in a rush, and she tilted her head at him. "No, dear. You see, once again, the Winchesters have proven the exception to the rule. I'm not here for you." 

With a flick of her wrist, Sam was raised in the air above her. She took a deep breath and expanded, lengthening until she was eye to eye with his suspended form. "I ought to take your lying tongue for what you've put him through, Samuel. Do you have any idea, the anguish he feels? The contrition? No one should ever feel so bad about joy. YOU did that to him. And he doesn't even know. He thinks I'm here for **him**! You make me sick with your selfishness. No. Your tongue can stay. I know exactly what I'll take from you."

Sam was immediately dropped to his knees before Dean. "Tell him the truth. The whole truth, and nothing but." 

"I, I don't know where to start..." 

"Start where it started, foolish boy, and quickly, I'm losing my patience." 

Sam looked up at Dean, who was looking down at him, steadily. He was confused, and in his eyes, Sam could see the sadness and the regret. He could see his mistake in his brother's eyes. 

"It started when I was sixteen. We were in Texas, it was so fucking hot, Dean. We were both taking showers every hour and a half. Eventually we stopped getting dressed between. Just hanging out in towels, waiting for it to get hot enough. And you...you were just so _beautiful_ and wet, and I couldn't help it. You made me so hard, Dean." He swallowed, "but I didn't know, what it meant, I guess, until freshman year at Stanford. There was this party, and I got drunk and, it was my first time with a guy, and Dean...when I woke up in the morning I realized he looked just like you. 

So when I remembered, and the last couple days came back to me, I mean, no, I didn't say anything. It was right in front of me, the thing I'd wanted for so long. And I know if I told you, it would've gotten awkward. We would've had to talk about it." 

"Don't you love talking about your feelings, Sammy?" It was supposed to be sarcastic, but Dean's voice just came out hesitant. 

"About the hard on I tend to get whenever I'm writhing three feet of my big brother? No, Dean. Like, ding, ding, ding! Congratulations. You've found the one touchy feely conversation I did not want to have. 

And then it was so fucking _good_ , and then after, everything felt so amazing and...I just wasn't ready yet. I couldn't break the bubble yet. And then you came in like you knew, and I just thought, deny, deny, deny, you know? But I wouldn't have let her hurt you, Dean. I swear." 

The room was quiet. So quiet. The spirit was still there. Just watching and waiting for Dean's reaction. 

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Dean asked, quietly. And Sam shook his head, "I hadn't worked it out that far." 

Dean stood. Capping the whiskey, he began to gather his things. "Dean," Sam started from the other side of the room, "Dean, what are you doing?" "Leaving." Dean but out. "Leaving?! What the fu-- where the hell are you going?!" His brother whirled on him, exploding, "AWAY, Sam! I'm going away. You lied to my face! And you didn't know when you were going to stop! You wanna know why I didn't just come out and tell you? I mean, was part of it selfishness? Sure! Fucking look at you. And you wanted _me_. Which, I mean, we gotta talk about your choice in men, Sammy, 'cause, me? You could have anybody. But I didn't tell you because of that panic attack at the national park. You looked wrecked, Sam, and I could go telling you you'd been playing around with your brother's dick, alright? I had actual reasons. And when Bobby told me you knew? I came home! And I sat here! And I tried to have the conversation with you. And you lied in my fucking face!" 

Sam was crying. Tears falling down his face in faster and faster succession until he was blind from it. He only barely saw Dean throw two hundred dollars cash at his chest before he stormed out. 

Nymeria tsk-ed once, but she was gone once the roar of the Impala's engine was too far away to hear. With the room empty, Sam collapsed on the floor and let the sobs rock him into unconsciousness.


	10. Pick Anything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Talk to the pretty bartender, they said. She'll make it all better, they said."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I'm so sorry. Honest moment, I have an aversion to finishing things. I'm bad at it. If you hadn't noticed. So, this is probably crap, but I had to get it out because I had to finish, you know? Also, you guys are flawless and deserve an ending. Truly you do. 
> 
> Also, it's fluffy.

"So, you've wanted this guy since you were kids."

The bar was packed. Noisy, cramped, hot. It made him anonymous, and brave enough in that anonymity to talk. So when the pretty blonde bartender (Jenny? Julia?) had parked in front of him with a bottle of top shelf whiskey and a glass, asking about his troubles, he'd spilled all the non-incestuous parts almost immediately.

"Yeah." He grunted, wincing at the way the amber liquid burned down his throat, settling warm in his belly. She nodded.

"And, through some weird medical miracle thing, you got him," everything she said had a question mark on the end, like she was making sure she’d gotten the story right.

"Yeah." Another drink flaming it's way down his gullet, brewing like hell in his gut.

"And then when you found out that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, you threw some money at him, and drove two states away?" Her eyes narrowed here, head tilting in utter confusion. Well, when you put it like _that_...

"Thats not--"

"What happened? Please, God, tell me that's not what happened. 'Cause that's dumb, sugar." This last was on a laugh, which made Dean angrier than he had any right to be. This wasn't funny. Nothing about this was funny. He'd left Sam in tears. He'd been in tears himself half the drive up here, though he'd never admit that to anyone. No. Nothing about this was funny.

"He lied to me." Dean spat, hurt bleeding into his tone. The bartender's eyes softened.

"Unfortunate fact of life, but that's a thing people do." Dean shook his head. Nothing had ever broken his heart like the rare moments when Sam was lying, and Dean knew Sam was lying. He thought back to those moments in the motel room, before Nymeria showed up. To _knowing_ that Sam was lying, and wishing so badly that he was wrong.

"Not us, we're not supposed to lie to each other."

"Says the guy who kept his massive crush secret for years?" _Irrelevant_ , he thought bitterly, but also, "I don't have a crush on Sam. I love him. I love him more than anything. I had my reasons."

"I'm sure he did too." Her voice was kind, understanding.

"His are stupid." Dean knew he was pouting, but this was the only place he could do it, drunk off his adss in some no name bar in Colorado (he thought).

"I doubt yours are winning any prizes, sugar. The question is, how are you gonna fix it?" He didn’t fucking know. Why did she think he was in a bar, literally beating the shit out of his liver, if he knew? Wouldn’t he be like, doing something? Obviously, this whole cathartic talking thing wasn’t as good an idea as he thought.

"Talk to the pretty bartender, they said. She'll make it all better, they said." She laughed at him, tipped her head back and laughed, a few of the other bar patrons turned to look. Not that he could blame them, she made a pretty sight, her smile reminded him of Sam. Shit.

"They're usually right. Then again, they're usually talking about my vagina, which you don't seem to have much interest in." Dean tried to picture it, laying over her, rocking into her, the soft, breathy noises she’d make. But all he could think about was Sam writhing under him and calling him Daddy and coming so fucking pretty and…

"I like vaginas," he pouted some more. She patted his hand.

"Oh, you pout so pretty." And with that, she pulled the whiskey off the bar, taking his now empty glass with her. "You're done here, honey. Sleep it off and go fix your shit. Hope he's even still there. Hell, you _threw_ money at him. Boys these days,"

Shaking her head, she walked off to the next teary eyed sap at the bar, pouring him a double and asking him what had him so blue.

Dean swung around on his bar stool, and walked out of the bar. He stumbled once and grimaced at himself. How many shots had he had? He was Dean Winchester, dammit, he could hold his fucking whiskey. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed without thinking.

"Dean?" And just like that, all the anger was gone. He sounded so broken, so hopeful, "Yeah, Sam. It's me."

"I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I didn't know what to do. Look, just, are you gonna come back? Do you want me to meet you somewhere? What do you want to do, we've gotta--"

"I know, Sammy, I know, calm down. Breathe, alright?," he waited, listening to his brother's shaky inhale and exhale on the other side of the line, "Good. That's real good, Sam. Look, I probably shouldn't be driving right now, I've had a little much,"

"Where are you? Do you need me to come get you? I'll get a car," Dean was biting back a chuckle. He didn’t know how, his baby brother was talking a mile a minute and would probably pass out if he didn’t remember to breathe.

"Sam! The breathing, baby, do the breathing." Instead of the breathing, he heard dead silence from his brother’s end. Then, eventually:

"You just called me 'baby'..."

"Yeah, well, I'm drunk, alright, and I've been calling you little shit like that for a week now,"

"Yeah, but, sweetheart more than 'baby'..."

"Are you gonna bitch about this, Sam?" He rolled his eyes, but his heart filled. They were bickering. It was normal. It was _good_.

"No, man, I'm just saying,"

"'Cause I remember you calling me a little something in bed that I don't think you want me to bring up."

"YOU STARTED THAT!"

"And you loved it." He grinned.

"You're impossible,” a beat, “Where are you?"

"Colorado."

"Jesus, Dean,"

"I was headed to Bobby's. I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"Run away like a little bitch?"

"I needed to think!"

"Two states away?"

"And to think I missed your sassy ass."

They were both silent for a minute.

"What the hell are we gonna do, Dean?"

And it occurred to Dean in that moment that this wasn't hard. That it had never been hard. That both of them had been making this thing huge for so long, and it just wasn't.

"I'm going to take a nap. Two hours, tops. Then I'm going to come back. And we're going to ride off into the sunset, Sam. We're gonna set up in a college town, let you go to law school. We're gonna hunt if something strikes our fancy, or if something's specifically after us. And, occasionally, I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. That's what we're going to do, Sam."

"And if I need something a little more often than 'occasionally'?"

Dean's chuckle was dark, "Should've known you'd be a little slut for me, Sammy."

"Deannn..."

"As often as you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want. You know that, don't you?"

"I want you now."

“Geographic impossibility, Sammy,” but he was smiling now. The thought of Sam being greedy for him was warming him more than the liquor had.

“I need something now.” There was a telltale rustle, like clothes being rearranged.

“Don’t touch. Shit, Sammy, don’t touch yet. Let me get to the car.”

“Where are you?” The younger man chuckles breathlessly.

“I’m standing outside the bar.”

“Hurry,” Sam whined, and Dean was walking as fast as he could without face planting into the concrete. He didn’t jog, there were people watching, he didn’t want to look eager.

“I’m going, babe, I’m going. I wasn’t expecting, I parked like a block away.” He tried to explain, breathing heavy with his quick movement.

“You parked the Impala a block away from the bar?” Sam was, rightfully, disbelieving. It wasn’t a thing he’d ever done before.

“I was distraught! I needed alcohol!” Dean tried to justify.

“You’re an idiot is what you are. I’m not even hard for you anymore. Idiocy does not turn me on.” He could literally _hear_ Sam taking his hands off his dick, probably crossing his arms like a baby, through the phone.

“The fact that you slept with me in the first place cancels that out, you realize that, right?”

“You’re not really an idiot, Dean.” The younger man was all the sudden deadly serious.

“Whatever you say, law school.” Dean joked, he didn’t really want to talk about this, didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Exactly. Law school. Higher education. I’m more qualified to make the call. And you’re not an idiot. Don’t think that, alright?”

“I love you,” Dean sighs, sliding at last into the front seat of the car.

“I love you, too.”

He waited, let the phrase carried the weight it was due, and then,

“But I love that ass of yours more,”

“God, Dean! Would it kill you to take something seriously? _Anything_. Pick **_anything_**!”

And everything was going to be okay, Dean realized.

Everything was going to be okay.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, so much, everyone, for sticking with me. If you ever wonder how life (in my head) turned out for the boys after this, you should totally check out JustineDelarge's "[A KeyCard, Not A Key](http://archiveofourown.org/works/953505)".


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